


The Scars That Bind

by GoodyearTheShippyCat, Kapla_Quail



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Disabled Character, Crying, Deimos' Past, Disability, First Meetings, Frottage, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Hiding Medical Issues, Hints of Praxis/Deimos, Hook-Up, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Making Out, Medical Conditions, Mild Blood, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Polyamory, Post-Battle, Rare Pairings, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Threats of Violence, Using Appropriate Amounts of Lube, bisexual Keeler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-16 11:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17549081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/pseuds/GoodyearTheShippyCat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kapla_Quail/pseuds/Kapla_Quail
Summary: The more the war progresses, the more Keeler's health deteriorates. When he breaks down again, he finds sudden help in the person of a small, mysterious fighter - help and love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a collaborative writing effort by Kapla_Quail (the idea and the plot!) and GoodyearTheShippyCat (the smut lol). We both wanted to see Deimos/Keeler, so we decided to make it happen!

Keeler was working at his desk when the computer announced Encke and Deimos at the door. Closing his files, he keyed the door open and watched his partner shove the small fighter into the office.

Encke didn’t look very happy, his frown transmitting all his thoughts:  Be on the alert, this one’s unpredictable, scream when you need me, I’ll wait outside the door in earshot and babe, I’m going to kill this guy if he does you any harm!

Keeler smiled at Encke and winked, confident he would settle this without any problems. Then he got up and smiled at Deimos, too - this dark-haired beauty who managed to frighten the whole ship without ever saying a word.

Deimos really was small, exactly the same height as Keeler and a bit effeminate, too, looking so young Keeler wondered when and how he became the born killer he was said to be.

"Thanks, Encke“, Keeler purred towards his lover. <<Deimos, thank you for coming up here. Please, be at ease and take a seat over there.>>

Keeler gestured towards two chairs and a table in the corner where he usually did his counselling and smirked. This was the perfect opportunity to put his colonial Russian to use, and Deimos’s bafflement as well as Encke’s gape-mouthed stare were a great reward for the effort it took Keeler to produce all those foreign words from his memory.

Deimos indeed was completely put off his stride by the unexpected approach, felt a loss of control and hated it. He hated to be here, hated this pain-in-the-ass, happy-cheery Lead Navigator with his ridiculous braid, hated every man on this ship except for one and hated himself for exactly this fact.

He only decided to follow orders because Encke was still lingering in the doorway, this brutal fucking drill sergeant, helicoptering his sweetheart as if he’d never see him alive again. Ship’s gossip (not that Deimos would have been interested in it) said the two were secretly married and he could well believe it, Keeler the only person Encke ever gave a smile.

After another shared look, the Lead Fighter left, though, and the Lead Navigator sat down opposite to Deimos.

<<Deimos, I’m sure you know why you’re here. I know you don’t like talking, so I’m willing to spare you my questions. But would you please put the knife away? There’s no need to threaten me with it because I as a navigator am not even entitled to give you orders.>>

Deimos startled at that comment and sulkily let his knife – one of his knives, one he had thought well hidden into the bargain – slip into his boot again. The Lead Navigator was maybe less green than he thought, but Deimos still kept his gaze on the floor, not willing to cooperate, not even willing to listen, his black bangs falling over his eyes, sealing him off.

As cute as he looked, small, athletic, with those big grey eyes, he stayed a feral, dangerous predator always ready to attack, having stabbed two poor guys on the space station already as Keeler knew from his criminal record. But the Lead Navigator kept his cool as always and was rather more curious than intimidated.

<<You’re a friend of Cain’s, aren’t you?>>, he asked, causing Deimos to jerk and stare him in the eyes now, more hostile than ever, ready to snap. What did he know about him and Cain?

<<I saw you in the mess hall together, you two>>, Keeler soothed. <<You’re always around him, watching over him and protecting him, a real friend.>>

Deimos snorted, but Keeler’s praise was genuine.

<<But you’re not the only one>>, Keeler went on. <<Maybe Cain didn’t tell you about it, maybe he doesn’t even know it, but there’s another person on this ship that’s keeping an eye on him.>> He winked.

Now Deimos eyes became wide like saucers as he stared at the Lead Navigator, so shocked he even forgot his planned counterstrike. Keeler – a rival? Another one?

The Lead Navigator chuckled. <<Don’t worry, it’s not what you think! I’ll tell you the whole story.>> He searched for the right words, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, getting serious, and suddenly his whole appearance changed. He looked so vulnerable now it amazed Deimos. There was something about him...

<<It’s a sad story, though. Well, the woman I intended to marry... No, let’s not talk about her like that.>> Keeler sighed, frowned.

<<Years ago, when I was joining the Alliance, the girl I loved went to Mars as an aid worker. To Colony III, to be exact. In a bombed out town named New Volga she met a boy, and his sister, and his niece – a poor little family that had no home anymore, no parents and never enough to eat. Probably just like you. And because she was a really nice girl, raised in the spirit of Mother, she started to help them. I was always sending her parcels and money, because I loved her... because I earned more than I needed anyway. And now I sent her some more parcels and money to support her new friends, too.>>

Keeler’s glance met Deimos’s and they shared a long, sad look. Suddenly the mouse discovered the clue to the riddle in those piercing blue eyes: The Lead Navigator was a double-dealer, an actor, pretending to be what he was not, just like Cain! Just like Cain he played his part so well he beguiled everyone, except Deimos.

 <<This boy was Alexei Lopatkin, who you know as Cain. I don’t know if he told you that I was paying for his food for years, that I even paid his bail once from the correctional facility. Probably he didn’t really care, being always in so much trouble.>> Keeler shrugged. <<When I heard he was about to transfer to the Sleipnir, I gave my...friend... the promise to care for him because it was him that kept her safe during all those years. Cain doesn’t have to know who I am, but I keep my promises.>>

The navigator smiled sadly. <<You see, we have a lot in common, you and I.>>

Deimos, his big eyes all responsive and speaking now, touched his right ring finger in a silent question.

<<Oh, you mean, what became of my friend?>> Keeler blushed as he answered in bitter tone. <<Well, obviously she didn’t marry me. If you’re in the mood for talking one day, you can ask Cain about her. He knows her new partner a lot better than I do.>>

Deimos sighed, looking compassionate and remaining silent with Keeler for a while. He was good at being silent. Good, too, at showing his appreciation.

Just when Keeler had collected his thoughts enough again to figure out how to bring this talk to the point he really wanted to discuss with Deimos, a sudden movement ripped him out of his focus. Like a ghost, Deimos had vanished from his chair and was now on his knees in front of Keeler, looking up coyly from between his legs and letting tender hands wander voluptuously along the insides of Keeler’s skinny thighs, slowly, teasingly, approaching his crotch.

Keeler froze for a second. "Deimos, what are you doing?“, he then exclaimed in horror, switching to English in his confusion as he jumped off from his chair and pulled the fighter up with him. Deimos whimpered.

"I don’t demand and I don‘t accept such kinds of service, Equinox! And if anyone here on this ship does, you come and report them to me, okay?“ He startled and stopped his shouting. "You should never ever let yourself be humiliated to such a position.“

Looking into Deimos’s disbelieving eyes, Keeler slowly lifted his hands from the other man’s shoulders. Deimos whimpered again – these fucking navigators managed to misunderstand everything!

<<But there is a favour you can do me, fighter Deimos>>, Keeler now said, having found his composure again.

Deimos raised a beautiful eyebrow.

<<Please pull yourself together and start training with your navigator. I know Phobos is not the most endearing person on this ship, but there’s a reason Cook assigned you two together. Please give him a chance. And that doesn’t mean taking his orders, Deimos. You’re a good fighter, but if you don’t learn how to work together instinctively, you’ll sooner or later get yourself killed.  Please show him how to work for you better, and if he doesn’t get it, consider talking to him, will you? I’ll oversee your team in particular during the next simulation and I would like to see some progress.>>

Deimos nodded, more servile dog now than feral cat, and Keeler smiled at him amicably. For a moment it seemed as if the small fighter really wanted to say something, so Keeler just waited patiently for him to bring the words out.

But Deimos didn’t plan to speak, although he had to tell the LN something. Now that his first attempt had failed, he tentatively raised his right hand, slowly crossed the space between them and reached to caress Keeler’s cheek. The Lead Navigator, moved by Deimos’s innocent gratitude, closed his eyes for a second and leaned his head into the sweet touch he secretly wanted to reciprocate.

Suddenly, though, he froze down to the bottom of his spine: This wasn’t the warm and soft contact of a human hand! Something cold, hard and smooth pressed against the skin of his cheek, slid down an inch, just for a second, and then the feeling was gone as suddenly as it had appeared.

Before Keeler had time to startle in horror, Encke was in the room, tearing Deimos away from the Lead Navigator.

"Keeler?“, he asked, worried by his lover’s wide eyes, ready to kill the fighter if necessary.

But Keeler only stared at Deimos in bewilderment, suddenly quite sure he read his smile and look as what it really was: not only the portrayal of affection of an odd kid, but rather...an invitation!

 


	2. Chapter 2

Deimos leant his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. Today’s skirmish with the Terons had certainly been no feat. Although thankfully no casualties had occurred and some ships had even managed to waste some bugs, the soldiers‘ desperate manoeuvers to escape enemy fire had led to some pretty badly injured fighters and navigators now all crowding the Med Bay.

Deimos counted himself among the lucky ones that didn’t need immediate surgery or would drop out from duty for weeks. To be honest, he thought he wasn’t hurt at all. But because he bumped his head against the gun suspension during landing and felt dizzy when getting out of the ship, Phobos had commanded him to go to Med Bay, bitching: „If you foul our bathroom up, I’ll have your guts for garters!“ Phobos and his strange tropes. Phobos and his contempt, his disgust. Deimos surely had the most demanding navigator of the whole battleship.

Subdued murmuring from the corridor reached Deimos‘ ears. The Medical Officers had told him to wait here in the abandoned laboratory until the understaffed crew had treated all emergencies and the whole-body scanner was free to check Deimos for his presumptive concussion. It could take hours to get there, yet Deimos felt almost happy to wait, to sit in this old-fashioned changing booth for a while, already stripped down to undershirt and pants even when there was no need for it. Here, he had the possibility of being close to certain people without them even noticing: to Cain first and foremost who burnt his legs, and to this little jinx Ethos who had managed to break his shoulder. To Praxis, who had refused to leave Ethos alone. Praxis…

Here, it was possible to think of what might be, to cherish hopes without humiliating himself. As Deimos now drew the curtains closed around him, it was like disappearing from reality. Deimos loved to hide. He was good at hiding.

After minutes or hours of sweet self-forgetfulness, the opening of the laboratory door ripped Deimos out of his daydreams.

"Sorry, sir, we can’t let you be with him in the theatre right now“, a harried nurse explained. "It’s orders from command, ‚no unschooled staff‘ and so on... I’m sorry.“ He sighed. "But you can wait in here until we’re done – it could take a while, though. I wish they’d send us some reinforcements, too.“

Then, the soft voice of the Lead Navigator: "Please, don’t be sorry, just focus on your work. The emergencies take top priority now. I can wait and I’ll be fine in here.“

A relieved exhale from the nurse, then the door was closed again and slow footsteps went past the changing booth and inside the room. Deimos froze, amalgamating with the walls, the chair, the equipment, becoming the mouse that gave him his nickname. Through the slit between the curtains he could observe the room and the plank bed on  which the Lead Navigator was now exhaustedly sitting down. Deimos held his breath while he studied the worn out, girlish face that magically lost its cheery sparkle as soon as nobody was watching. But this wasn’t news for Deimos any more since his date in the LN’s office.

Although the officer seemed unhurt, his white flight suit was stained with blood. Of course - Encke had been injured during the skirmish, too. Deimos couldn’t remember too much from the landing, being so sick he barely kept himself from vomiting. But he had caught a glimpse of the Lead Fighter then, descending from the Xanadu and bleeding like a waterfall, his dark face adorned with fascinating, meandering rivulets. It probably was nothing serious, though. Those head injuries always bled like crazy.

When Deimos thought about it, it was a miracle the Lead Navigator had emerged unscathed. With a crazy looping he had brought himself and his fighter out of mortal danger, evading the Terons’ shot in the last second. Liar or not, he truly was the best pilot of all. No other navigator would have survived such a situation.

It was a miracle how Keeler managed to survive up here in space anyway. Where Deimos came from, a beauty like him would just have been abused and destroyed, and as he’d learnt quickly, the Sleipnir was not much different from the colonies after all.

The lieutenant brought both hands to his face and folded them in front of his mouth, his shoulders starting to shake slowly. Deimos was aghast to see him cry like this. No fighter would ever do that. Was it the hypersensitive navigators‘ nerves? The fear about Encke’s injury? Maybe he was hurt, too? Because now he clenched his hands on his breast and inhaled audibly, one time, two times, making strange noises with his breath. When he eventually pulled his legs up and laid down flat on the daybed, pale as fuck, Deimos decided something was seriously wrong. He had to go fetch some help.

As he slowly got up from his stool, he was careful to only make faint noises so as not to frighten the lieutenant unreasonably. Keeler thought himself alone after all. But despite his condition, the navigator was immediately on the alert.

"Who is there?“, he panted in horror, shaking badly, trying to sit up but failing.

Deimos slowly drew the curtains aside to reveal his presence. As soon as Keeler recognized him he looked almost happy for a second.

"Deimos!“, he breathed.

Incredible how he managed to smile even in this situation. Then his head fell back on the bed weakly and the strange noises of his respiration started again. Deimos turned to call the MOs.

"Do...don’t go away, please... I need you.“ Keeler reached out for Deimos, trying to hold him back. It was an order, so Deimos reluctantly came closer, appalled by the Lieutenant’s big, suffering eyes, the sight of his body shaken by spasms, the strange wheezing of his lungs. Was this his secret? A mysterious disease?

"Deimos, hold me up...please...I need air.“

Deimos did his best to support the shoulders of his superior, eventually climbing on the daybed to let the lieutenant’s head rest against his breast. He watched the other’s chest heave, felt his racing heartbeat, saw his hands tremble on the zipper of his flight suit. He decided to pull it down for him to make breathing easier. Clumsily, he then put Keeler‘s pale braid back on his shoulder where it belonged.

After the minutes went by in which Deimos just held him, Keeler relaxed, his breath lost the perilous gasps and came more regularly now. It took some more moments, though, until he was able to speak. Deimos tried to ignore how his cramped, white fingers held onto his arm.

"Don’t be afraid...This happens from time to time. No need to tell anyone, do you agree?“

Keeler tried to turn to face Deimos, so the fighter thought it would be more comfortable for the other to just rest on the bed. Almost involuntarily, Deimos ended up cuddled next to him on the narrow cot, his nose only inches away from the navigator’s, their eyes facing each other, their breaths mingling. Deimos couldn’t help but touch his pale cheek again, which made Keeler smile wearily. No knife this time.

<<I’m so worried>>, Keeler said in Russian. <<Not because of Encke. Encke will be fine, it’s just a laceration, it’ll heal. But Sienna, Bazin – it’s not even clear they’ll make it, Deimos.>> There were tears again in those bright blue eyes. Deimos had almost forgotten what that looked like, so he was half expecting to become ensorcelled when his fingers touched the crystal drops that started rolling down.

<<I’m so glad Aljosha is alive. I’m glad you’re alive>>, Keeler whispered. <<You did very good today. Your teamwork with Phobos has made huge progress, and I’m proud...>> He had difficulties speaking. Deimos had to shush him with a finger on his velvety mouth.

The navigators all looked like fairy tale princesses, so refined, so clean, so unlike normal people. They were genetically modified to be like this, to be beautiful, to be clever. Normally, there was no need for them to break down like this because they were perfect. But Keeler wasn’t perfect, he was sick.

Deimos froze when the Lead Navigator suddenly took his hand and brought it close to his face, slowly turning it, studying the many scars on his wrist, all those little cuts and stitches, and the large ones on the outside of his arm which he traced carefully with his finger. The gentleness of this touch, the cool tenderness of his hands made Deimos want to scream. Never in his life had he been caressed with such disconcerting delicacy. It felt unbearable. Was this the way Keeler touched Encke? More importantly: Was it the way Abel touched Cain? And did Cain like it?

<<Mother, what happened? Who did this to you?>>

Deimos needed a second to get what he meant.

It was years ago, long before he started his fighters‘ training. Youths from Deimos‘ neighborhood in Colony III, taller and stronger boys than him, had ambushed him behind the ruins, looking for some means to make him speak up, to make him scream. They cut his arms with their knives, every which way, again and again. But it didn’t work. Deimos didn’t scream. Even in his state of deathly terror he was enraptured when instead of the expected pain an unknown sweetness flooded his body. Later, when he’d craved that feeling, he had started cutting himself.

But how to explain all that to a navigator? How was a pansy like Keeler supposed to understand? A stupid superior that had summoned him to his office, ordered him to train better and then broke down himself after the next manoeuver. Deimos wanted to grab his knife to make Keeler regret his question when suddenly he became aware of something. Keeler had a scar himself! The open collar of the flight suit revealed a perfect, straight scar that divided his pale breast neatly in two halves. Deimos never had seen anything like that before. The perfect scar. The perfect navigator. It was beautiful.

He couldn’t resist, he had to touch it, had to feel Keeler’s skin, and when he did it felt like growing a cord of communion so powerful it made him forget his inhibitions , made him forget his unworthiness. His lips were on Keeler’s, his hands on his face and in his hair and it was true what Cain once had confessed to him: Kissing a navigator was like falling through the ice, like dancing naked in the snowfall, like dying.

Deimos had never seen real flowers, but flowers must be what Keeler smelled of, he couldn’t inhale deep enough, snuggle close enough into this addictive odour while the navigator’s hands were everywhere on his arms and shoulders.

"Sir“, he whimpered.

"I know“, Keeler said against his mouth before kissing him again, long and generously. "But I can’t. I’m sick, Deimos, it hurts me. I just can’t.“

The sound of approaching footsteps carried into the examination room and Deimos jumped away from Keeler on the bench. It was over far too abruptly. He couldn’t help wanting more, wanting to do the opposite even as he helped the slender navigator do up the zipper of his flight suit again. Though the suit wouldn’t hide the flush on his face. It practically glowed like the red targets on their weapons station displays next to his pale blond hair.

The orderly who entered a few seconds later ignored it, though, or perhaps thought it an entirely different reaction. He was obviously taken aback that the two had been put in the same room together, and stammered slightly as he told Keeler that he could go and see his fighter now. He stood and waited for Keeler to follow him out, eyeing Deimos suspiciously the entire time.

Deimos just stared blankly back at him. That usually did the trick. Once they were gone, he returned to his stool in the changing stall and waited for the MO behind the comforting secrecy of the curtain once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Deimos hadn’t expected to see Keeler again that day. Leaving med bay with the doctor’s orders to rest plenty, some painkillers for the headache, and two days off duty with a follow-up already booked, he spied the LN sitting beside Encke’s bed. They were in the wing dedicated to overnight observation and longer term recovery, now more crowded than usual. The Lead Fighter looked a mess with all the stitches on the side of his scalp, but the blood had all been cleaned off.

He slowed his pace, listening. As he passed the open door, he could hear Encke’s groggy voice: “…fine, Keeler. You should go and rest, though. Have you been here since the battle?”

If Keeler responded, his soft words were lost to the background hum of the ship and the sound of people shuffling around. Luckily for Deimos, Encke’s deeper baritone carried even when he spoke quietly. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone tonight. Maybe Puck could stay with you?”

Normally nobody noticed him as he made his way silently through the ship, but to his surprise Keeler looked up, catching view of him through the glass barrier of the windows on the other side of the doorway.

Their eyes met and something he couldn’t articulate passed between them.

 

Having finally been chased off by a worried Encke, Keeler headed for the lift with exhaustion heavy in his limbs. Turning the corner out of med bay, he spotted a now-familiar figure leaning into one of the alcoves of the corridor. Deimos looked almost casual, except for the fact that he was obviously there waiting for him.

A striking gaze pinned him from beneath black bangs, and the little shadow tailed him the rest of the way back to his room.

With a slight hesitation, Deimos even entered his room after Keeler waved him in. The fighter stood there, looking uncertain. Keeler stepped closer to him, winding his arms around a trim waist and resting his chin on one strong shoulder.

He felt Deimos’ hands tentatively come to rest on his back, and sighed into the contact.

<<Will you stay with me tonight?>> he asked in Russian, hoping for a positive response but not necessarily expecting one from the cagey fighter.

He was just so tired, and so emotionally drained from the long day. He remembered the feeling of the other man supporting him earlier in med bay and wanted to feel safe like that again. To feel the calm it brought, the ease of breathing that came with it.

Deimos simply looked at him, questioning with those big, pale eyes of his.

<<It helps keep my mind from racing if… if I have someone to hold me,>> he explained, already feeling his body start to shut down now that he was back in the safety of his quarters, <<I don’t want to be lonely right now.>>

The admission seemed to satisfy the quiet fighter, who disengaged their embrace and stepped around him. Keeler heard as much as felt the soft _ffzzz_ of the zipper on his flight suit coming down again, this time continuing lower.

In another light, he might have found it exciting, or sensual. The way in which Deimos carefully helped him peel the skin-tight garment off; touching him with as much delicacy as he could, concentration bringing his dark, swooping brows together in a slight furrow just visible to the side of his curtain of hair.

In his current state, however, it was all Keeler could do to hobble over to the bed and stay sitting upright while Deimos undid his boots. Keeler’s arms wobbled slightly and he pressed them against the mattress harder.

Once he was stripped down, Deimos fetched him a clean undershirt and briefs from his drawers, helping him pull the shirt over his head.

Keeler watched sleepily as the fighter undressed, too, removing his boots first. His jacket followed, exposing scar-covered arms again. Despite his own fatigue and Deimos’ attempts to be surreptitious, he also caught sight of at least three knives being untucked from hiding places in the man’s uniform.

 _No wonder Encke worries,_ he thought sleepily, but couldn’t even muster a tiny bit of fear or unease toward the man about to share his bed. A slight pang of guilt found its way through the haze, though Keeler couldn’t manage the effort to hang onto it for long.

In spite of his dangerous reputation and threatening airs, Deimos had showed him nothing but silent comfort. Keeler was only just ensconced in his arms—those compactly muscled arms, strangely textured from the criss-crossing scars decorating them—before he fell deep into blissful unconsciousness.

 

Deimos awoke with a start, and instinctively reached for the knife he would normally have under the side of the mattress. Not finding it snapped him even more awake, panic encroaching. He quickly calmed down after realizing his rude awakening was due to Keeler tossing and turning, rather than some unseen attacker.

The navigator was mumbling distressed but incoherent noises, clearly having some kind of nightmare. His breathing was ragged and his face pale, though not so ghostly as it had been down in the examination room.

Deimos tried to wake him, lightly shaking one fine-boned, smooth and perfect shoulder. Beautiful blue eyes opened, confusion evident in their shimmering depths. The man was at least awake, though not too coherent at first; trembling slightly and obviously trying to calm his breathing, curled into Deimos’ chest.

“As if I wasn’t stressed enough, I have to see them hurt in my dreams, too,” he said, sounding almost ready to cry.  

Deimos rolled a little more onto his side and tentatively placed one of his arms on the navigator’s back, the other coming to rest along the back of his head, nestled in fine blond hair. Keeler pulled tighter against him in response, searching for full-body contact. He couldn’t help being acutely aware of every inch of the delicate man pressed against him. Including a handful of inches that were surprisingly hard pressed into his thigh. The dream hadn’t sounded like a particularly arousing one based on what little Deimos had observed. Keeler probably didn’t even realize, he figured. Sleeping bodies just did that kind of thing.

But no amount of rationalizing could change the fact that he wasn’t used to this kind of soft familiarity. Sharing a bed out of anything other than necessity—or for activities that differed significantly from sleeping—was a novel situation. And novelty was too easily followed by excitement.

Deimos could feel his body start to respond even as he wished it wouldn’t. Keeler was just beginning to seem calmer, this was not the time. Worried he would offend the prim and proper navigator, he tried to pull away without the shift being noticed. But his plan was foiled by one pale hand stroking down his side, keeping his hips close. It was only through habit of making little-to-no noise that Deimos managed not to let a sound slip as their bodies met again, a firm, warm pressure that felt divine.

He could have broken the hold easily if he wanted to—the other man was barely exerting any force. Yet he remained where he was.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” said Keeler, voice level once more, breathing back to normal, soft rhythms.

They remained cuddled together for a while longer, Deimos trying his best to calm down. It was hopeless, though. He was antsy and on edge; it felt like something was crawling under his flesh, trying to get out. The quiet, peaceful state the other man had found evaded him. Every point where their bare flesh touched felt like burning, the gentle rise and fall of the navigator’s chest against his own too close and not close enough. The intimacy of it was agony.

An eternity of tender suffering seemed to pass before Keeler tilted his head up to meet Deimos’ restless gaze. His genetically-modded perfect face slightly creased with pillow marks, hair a bit wavy and tangled where it had come out of its braid. After a moment stretched to nearly breaking with anticipation, the man staring warmly up at him shifted, placing a lingering kiss against Deimos’ mouth.

<<Thanks for staying with me,>> he murmured practically against his lips, switching over to Colonial Russian once more.

Deimos hadn’t really noticed the other man’s reversion to English when they’d both just woken, but the conscious return to using his own native tongue plucked at something deep in his chest. He could feel his brows climb up his forehead even as he kept the rest of his expression passive, unresponsive. It was enough to get a smile from Keeler, though, which was followed by another kiss. An even longer kiss, accompanied by a soft, breathy sigh.

They continued like that, slow and gentle again like in the med bay. Each kiss longer than the next, one blurring into the next as their bodies rocked against each other ever so slightly. It took all of Deimos’ self-control to hold himself back, not to push or accidentally hurt the fragile man in his arms. He wanted so badly to just throw himself at Keeler, to prostrate himself in front of the man and be taken by him. But he recalled the other man’s hesitance in the exam room, the pained way he’d said ‘ _I can’t._ ’ His thoughts swirled, uncertain what Keeler had meant by that, wanting to ask but not sure he was prepared to reveal that much.

So Deimos just floated in that ephemeral state, kissing the other man for as long as he could stand it. Trying to adjust to the experience which so starkly contrasted with his usual trysts. It was almost like how he remembered standing beneath a freezing cold shower spray when the heat had been cut for the dozenth time. His body got used to it quickly, but it never quite became comfortable. It always made all the little hairs on his arms stand up. Made goosebumps prickle down his flanks.

It still felt like too much, Keeler’s soft caresses almost scorching along his skin, uncomfortably kind. Too soft, too slow, and too generous. Touches more thoughtful than anyone had ever bothered with for him, more reverential than he deserved. Fingers running over the furrows that covered his arms without a hint of disgust or an intention to shame.

It almost hurt, the warring of his body wanting to recoil and press up into each caress at the same time. It was all in his head, though. A completely separate kind of pain-pleasure than he was used to. He couldn’t imagine Keeler had a bone in his body that liked to inflict suffering. Maybe they’d all been removed through that neatly sutured line down his chest. The pale-on-pale line of his long-healed scar standing out in the dim light coming from panel by the door.

To continue as they were was benevolent torment, but Deimos craved it now. It was still too much, though. He needed to do something else. Find some relief.

 

When Deimos began kissing down his neck, Keeler finally surfaced from the comforting lull of their lazy make out session. His eyelids fluttered open, vision taking a moment to focus again in the dim light. His cheek brushed thin, silky hair blacker than the darkness surrounding them; shining like the void of space did, illuminated by the stars. Deimos’ plush lips just barely grazed his throat, movements still as slow and careful as before.

Not for the first time, Keeler wished he could have more. Wished he could let Deimos kiss him harder, bite him, grab his shoulders and rut against him. But fantasizing about what he couldn’t have never made things better in the moment, so he banished the thoughts as he always did. He brought his mind back to what he was enjoying, focusing on the warm line of the other man against his side. The way lips and even a tentative hint of tongue explored around the tendons of his neck and the hollows of his collarbones. How the fighter’s strong back muscles shifted smoothly beneath his hands where he’d clutched at the man’s shoulders, warm and vital.

The feeling of airy kisses being placed along the top of his scar, just exposed by the low neckline of his undershirt. The tickly sensation that felt like butterfly wings fluttering around the edges of it, fading unevenly into the dead zone of scar tissue where his nerve endings didn’t reach anymore. His breath caught in his throat—in a good way, such a rare and pleasant moment—when he looked down at Deimos. The colonist had let his eyes fall closed, but they snapped up to meet Keeler’s. A question in his gaze as strong, slender fingers fidgeted with the hem of Keeler’s shirt.

<<Go ahead,>> said Keeler, giving the other man the answer he was looking for. He brought his arms up and Deimos took his shirt off as carefully as he’d put it on just a few hours previous.

Deimos continued his ministrations, kissing down the entire length of Keeler’s surgery scar before fluidly shifting back up to place another kiss on his lips. He watched as the small fighter slid down the mattress once more, this time even lower. Deimos began by touching his lips between the wings of Keeler’s ribcage, mouthing along the raised ridge of one side, down his oblique, to the sharp lift of a hipbone. As he continued kissing lightly over stomach and back up the other side of his torso, the other man also slid his hands down the tops of Keeler’s thighs and up along the insides.

“Ahhh, Deimos!” he gasped, a bit shocked by the sudden touch. His hips bucked up of their own accord, responding to the firmer, more substantial feeling of the fighter’s palms on his legs.

Deimos’ fingers continued to skitter over his hips, just avoiding touching his cock, which was straining at the white fabric of his military issue briefs. The obviousness of his erection seemed almost vulgar, interposing itself in the quiet of their amorous exchange, leaking at the tip and making the thin white fabric covering it nearly transparent. Keeler might have even felt embarrassed if he couldn’t feel the answering press of Deimos, hard against his calf muscle. The fighter was holding very still, keeping too much of his weight from resting on Keeler. But he could still feel the man twitch against him. And hear the tiny half-moans coming from the level of his waist, where Deimos had started to lave his tongue along Keeler’s hipbones.

Mother, how he wanted the man’s mouth on him.

Keeler closed his eyes for a moment and just breathed, trying to assess a few things in spite of the overwhelming distraction. He wasn’t hurting for now—or at least no more than baseline, anyway. He was actually feeling much better than expected, all things considered. Opening his eyes, he realized that Deimos had paused in what he was doing, hovering over him but not touching any more.

“Sir?” came the sandpaper whisper of his voice.

<<Sorry, it’s okay, I’m okay,>> Keeler spluttered in hastily composed fragments of Russian, wanting the fighter to resume what he’d been doing as soon as possible, <<Don’t stop.>>

Keeler thought he caught the start of a smile on the other man’s impassive face, but Deimos bent his head and that dark fall of hair obscured his expression. Keeler lost his train of thought almost immediately; the feeling of hot breath puffed along his still-clothed cock was distracting. The distraction only became heightened as Deimos mouthed along his length through the fabric, soft lips gripping slightly and dragging as they went. His hips bucked again when he felt the flat of a tongue lick one firm stripe slowly up, humming as it went, moisture and warmth penetrating the fabric and surrounding him.

Keeler lost himself in Deimos’ careful touch as the fighter helped him slip out of his briefs. The colonist kissed back up his legs and resumed the slow, teasing exploration of his cock. By the time Deimos had taken it all the way into his mouth for the first time, Keeler could already feel his breath going reedy and his chest tightening slightly.

He stuck it out for a while longer, marveling at the difference between how Deimos felt compared to Encke. Both were so good, but so different in their approach. Encke always made him feel like he was floating endlessly, and he almost tripped over his release—surprised by it, just the right combination of lips and tongue and hands suddenly on him. 

Deimos seemed more like riding aboard a freighter ship, the destination inevitably drawing closer, no stops along the way. Even gentle as he seemed to be aiming for, Keeler felt like he was barreling towards a pinnacle, dragged along by a firm mouth and delicious suction. It was quickly becoming too much for him to handle.

<<That feels– amazing… but–  it’s just, too much,>> he said around gasping breaths, proud of himself for still managing to say anything coherent in Russian at all by that point, <<Please, come back–  up here–  for a bit.>>

Deimos looked up almost quizzically, but he listened, sliding back up alongside Keeler, who leaned in to kiss him, thankful that he was so quick to follow requests. As their lips met, he slid his hand up beneath the fighter’s undershirt, finding a few more scattered scars along his torso. Keeler rucked the shirt up, wanting to feel more of the man’s skin against his own. Deimos helped him out, pulling the shirt up all the way and tossing it off the narrow bed.

They came together again, even closer, tongues probing and breath mingling. Keeler relished the feeling of their hips interlocking, their arousal so evident, pressed up along each other, trying to touch in as many places as possible. He felt like he could get too carried away by their momentum, even moving slow as they were. Deimos’ hips barely rolling up against his as they breathed each other in, foreheads pressed together. He felt reckless, but reigned the impulse in. One night of unbridled passion wasn’t worth the pain that would likely ensue, or the potential danger to his Alliance career.

Keeler compromised by stroking his hand down Deimos’ side, letting it come to rest on the small, firm globe of his ass.

<<You should touch yourself,>> he said when he could separate their mouths for a moment between kisses, <<I’d like to watch.>> He emphasized his point with a well-timed squeeze that elicited a tiny, strangled noise from the fighter.

Deimos slipped his own black briefs off, and Keeler’s mouth practically watered at the sight. They continued to kiss, long and languid as Deimos stroked himself. Keeler ate up the little moans and gasps the other man made—the most noise he’d ever heard from him, even quiet and sparse as they were. He let out a much louder moan of his own when Deimos took his cock in hand again, too. The feeling of strong fingers holding him against the fighter’s length was overpowering, nearly driving logical thought from his brain as the man stroked them both simultaneously.

They stayed like that a while, touching each other and themselves. After a while, Keeler reached for the lube he kept stashed between the mattress and the wall. He poured some into his palm, hissing as the cool slick spread on the next downstroke of his hand. It warmed quickly, heightening every sensation, making every slow movement that much more intense.

<<Would you like some?>> he offered the small bottle to Deimos, who was watching him.

The quiet man declined, but happily resumed kissing him afterwards. Keeler traced constellations between the scars along the fighter’s arms. Deimos nuzzled into his chest, lips touching down along his scar with such delicacy. The tension between them was by now a palpable thing, almost another living presence in the room. They both wanted more.

<<Can I try something, Deimos?>> he asked, hopeful.

<< _Please_ ,>> Deimos rasped out, a needy whine underlying the word. Barely louder than his breathy panting. All the desperation Keeler felt, too, suffusing it like a plea.

<<Put your back to me,>> suggested Keeler, guiding Deimos to roll onto his other side, <<Yes, just like that.>>

 

Deimos felt overstrung, fit to snap at any moment. If the energy coiled in his body could make a sound, it would be screeching like the drag of metal against metal. All this gentleness, the slow, drawn out pace of every action, wound him tighter. He didn’t know how to let go like this, or how to act. All he could do was follow Keeler’s subtle lead and hope that he was enough like that; without his practiced wiles, all his built up tolerances.

When he turned his back to the navigator, he wondered if the other man had finally given in. Initially, the slide of Keeler’s already slicked cock up and down the cleft of his ass seemed like a surrender to the inevitable. Though not an unfamiliar sensation to him, it was never one that lasted long before other men would shove it in. Deimos gave a little moan of pleasure and pressed his hips back.

Keeler simply kept it there, though, rocking ever so slowly against him with long, languid motions. Just as it had felt like he was finding his balance again, back on familiar ground, the strange and beautiful man he was in bed with turned everything upside down again. Threw him for another loop—not with force but with the lack thereof. With placid, even, continuous motions that teased endlessly.

Just the slightest stimulation; the gentle slipping of Keeler’s molten-solid length against his rim. All reigned-in heat, locked-down passion, rubbing up and down over it. Mild pressure but never any push to back it up. Far from enough to change to penetration, even when the navigator’s bony hips seemed pressed against his ass with the intention to cut through him. A suggestion of going further, always withheld. The other man’s hand on his hip simply caressing instead of grabbing and guiding.

When Keeler eventually reached a hand around and touched him, Deimos couldn’t hold back a desperate, needy mewl. A pathetic little sound, perfectly summing up his utter helplessness in the navigator’s arms. Long fingers freshly slicked with lube playing across his cock shocked him the same way those first kisses had. The intensity of a cutting winter wind wrapped up in the gentle fall of scatted snowflakes under a bright, sunny sky.

It was so warm and wet. Felt so good as the hills of individual fingers and the tiny valleys between them travelled up and down him, each one standing out in a way they wouldn’t have with a faster movement. That infuriatingly slow pace Keeler set, making him lose his mind with desire. Remaining slow and gentle no matter how much he whined, no matter what nonsense little words spilled uncharacteristically from his mouth, asking for more.

Experience and expectation told Deimos he wanted it faster, or harder, but his thoughts in the moment stayed his hand. Wanting to let the navigator dictate his course, just as he would if in some alternate universe they had been paired together, flying through the void. It was delicious torture; slow death by a thousand feather light touches. He wanted it the same way he’d wanted the feeling of a blade in his flesh long ago.

So instead he writhed in the man’s arms, letting himself fall completely under the influence of gentle kisses placed all over his neck and jaw, long hair spilling over his chest and dragging over his shoulders, and that intoxicating scent of blooms. The only noise he could focus on that of the navigator’s rattling gasps, interspersed with moans that seemed to pluck at something inside him.

When Keeler finally cried out and shuddered against him, Deimos felt a hot line spurt up his lower back, burning like a brand. But he was still hard, still wanting, still so close and yet so far.

Yet apart from a stuttering, momentary squeeze and pause of his hand at climax, Keeler barely broke the consistent motion Deimos was subjected to. It continued on into infinity; like they’d become one with the stars if they just kept going like that.

<<So beautiful,>> said Keeler’s ragged voice next to his ear, between heaves of breath that rippled over his cheek and then down his arm as the man kissed a prominent scar over his bicep.

Never had such simple words impacted him like they did in that moment.

It was like falling in a dream; one moment he was poised at the edge of a cliff, then without warning was hurtling down towards the ground, unsure of how it had happened. Release wracked his body as surely as the moment of awakening—light and confusion and the feeling of a moment outside time—leaving him shaken and gasping.

The solid presence at his back and soft murmur of wordless appreciation tethered him back to the world. The tickle of breath on his neck, slowly becoming less laboured as they lay together. Keeler’s cool fingers tracing down his arms, a gesture that would be far too intimate from anyone else. The feeling of a straight, perfect scar pressed up against his spine too comforting by far. But it was a comfort he couldn’t bring himself to push away, even as it smoldered beneath his skin, threatening to light everything ablaze again.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning came. Deimos got up early with Keeler, accompanied him into the shower, helped him dress – placidly and obligingly as it was his usual ways. In the half dark, both men spoke little, almost nothing, because what was there to say after their bodies had said everything? At this early hour, the distant humming of the ship seemed to weave a peaceful spell over them.

Eventually, when it was time to part, the Lieutenant stopped Deimos at the door with a last, long, languid kiss.

"Thank you, sweet, little fighter“, he said with his gentle voice, his fingers completing the braiding of his silken hair. "Will there be someone to take care of you where you go now?“

Deimos grazed his cheek and nodded, not capable of telling him he was invisible even for the people he wanted to notice him. Keeler knew nothing about that and he shouldn‘t, he was relieved and that was the main thing for the fighter. Deimos looked at Keeler affectionately and the other smiled in return. Then, when the Lead Navigator turned and pushed the door open, each of them slowly went their separate ways.

Deimos knew a night like this was most unlikely to repeat itself. Nevertheless, the stunning encounter with this strange man had taught him more about himself than any other event of the last few months. This was the first time he had ever touched a navigator. And he felt that even when they’d never meet again, the strange cord of communion between them would stay. Deimos could still feel it, pulling at his heart strangely while he walked.

Lost in these thoughts, Deimos made his way back to the fighters‘ levels, mouse-like, unnoticed.

The next day, Encke returned to duty. After all that had happened, Deimos expected to be confronted by him and, although unlikely, hoped to get off it cheaply. When Encke indeed kept him back after martial arts training because of allegedly poor results, however, an unpleasant shiver went down his spine, made the little hairs on his neck stand on end. Deimos almost didn’t notice Praxis‘ questioning glance and the dirty jokes of his fellow fighters that were parting for the showers while he hesitantly re-entered the gym.

To his surprise, he wasn’t welcomed there by Encke’s fist in his face. The Lead Fighter was tidying up some gloves and barbells in a nearby cupboard while Artemis and Daphnis, the two sergeants, sat on a pile of mats in the background, smoking and apparently discussing some flight manoeuvers.

Deimos stood next to the boxing ring uselessly for several minutes before Encke slowly walked towards him. The tall fighter seemed relaxed, and his face even showed some sort of kind expression which was rare for him. Still, Deimos didn’t trust him. He clutched the open knife in his pocket tighter, caressing the blade with his thumb, a sensation that never failed to calm him.

"Hey“, Encke said in a low voice when he reached the boxing ring and Deimos thereby. "Don’t worry because of the bad training results, Equinox. I only made them up to be able to speak to you in peace. You did really good today.“ He smirked.

Thankfully, neither Deimos‘ face nor his eyes revealed his surprise, his black bangs curtaining every emotion. It really seemed like Encke wouldn’t attack him here and in the presence of the sergeants. But what did he want instead?

The Lead Fighter leaned onto the railing of the ring, still sweating from training, his face tired and marked by the ugly, new scar. He had never done so before, but suddenly, Deimos almost pitied him.

"I wanted to thank you, Equinox“, the dark man said finally after what looked like an internal struggle.

Now, Deimos couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

"I know what happened after the battle. Keeler... told me.“ Encke gulped. Deimos gulped, too.

"You have nothing to fear from me, son. I’m okay with it, you can put your knife away. Keeler’s not my possession, he’s a grown up man, he has every freedom. And I’m glad it was you he spent the night with. Really, I am.“

The Lead Fighter had spoken under his breath, casting a glance towards the sergeants, but they still were enjoying their break on the mats, totally absorbed in their conversation, ignorant of their Lead Fighter’s business or, more likely, disinterested.

He turned back to his small subordinate, smirking crookedly. "Okay, to be honest, if I had known beforehand that it would be you he’d choose, I wouldn’t have closed my eyes for one second that night. But as always, it turns out I’m just a fighter. Keeler as the navi is the one that knows what he’s doing and why. Mostly, that is.“ His voice softened.

"This man really is my other half, my second self. He’s a little genius, but he’s also been through a lot more shit than a navigator should be. I’m glad you didn’t meet him with expectations based on the ship’s gossip.“ Deimos‘ eyes widened at that, but Encke just chuckled suppressedly.

"Ah, come on, I know what the crew is saying. The _insatiable_ Lead Navi, luring his most beautiful subordinates into his office every night for _wild orgies_ while I’m there, too, filming – or whatever.“ Encke winked playfully.

"You saw for yourself that we’re far from it, sadly. But honestly, what use do I have for other beautiful subordinates when it’s this little angel I can have at my side? Back then when I first saw him, after Bering had me transfer from earth especially to become his partner, ‚ _his Encke_ ‘… when Keeler stood there in front of me so fucking beautiful, grave and quiet like a man forsaken one time too often. I gave myself the promise to prove myself worthy of him, to become his true partner, to become whatever he needed me to be. This promise is irreversible, Equinox. I will always stick to it and always did, even when after a while I found out that this beautiful man, the best pilot, the most important navigator on board, was the navigator that wasn’t supposed to be here at all. The sick one. The cheater. An emergence as rare maybe as a grey-eyed colonist. And by that time I knew him already well enough to know: Keeler would rather die than retire because of his health. He’s incredibly strong, he keeps going even now when you and I know he’s facing his limit.“

Encke sighed painfully, but there was still something like a smile on his features. " _Ah! misère de t’aimer, mon frèle amour/ qui vas respirant comme on expire un jour!_ Equinox, I’m not happy about you knowing the secret now, too. But I’m happy about having another person now – a caring person“, and here he looked at him appraisingly, „that can keep an eye on him when I can’t. You can’t imagine what a relief that is for me. And I saw for myself: You did him some good. You made him feel complete, desired, accepted like he is – things I try to give him, too, of course, but I doubt he believes me as I’m always repeating myself. When I spoke to him today, he seemed so fulfilled, so at one with himself, and so radiant...I don’t know when I last saw him like this. I don’t know how to thank you for that, Equinox. And“, he smiled, "I hope you forgive me I judged you wrong.“

Deimos nodded and wished the Lieutenant would understand: The same was true the other way round.


End file.
